Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and have just borrowed them for my – and your – pleasure.
FATAL HARVEST
Steed shows off his roots.
Emma does some weeding.
Chapter 24
Potter took the call. From Steed's tone he quickly gathered that that he was expected to read between the unscrambled words. Two things were made blindingly clear in a few cryptic sentences: sleep would be a foregone luxury for the next twenty-four hours, and Steed expected him to recover a small package and guard it with his life. The missing details could be trusted to reach him soon via a ministry courier or, if his colleague was true to form, some less orthodox channel.
Twenty-three hours later, the junior agent was counting his blessings and finding himself short. On the plus side, there had been no messy manhandling involved. In fact, the lorry driver he had tailed back from Expefarmax into London had been downright cooperative. Potter had flashed his credentials and requested the handover of a delivery that ought to have travelled quite a few blocks further, to some exclusive address in Chelsea. A wink and a cheeky "Regards to the guv'nor" wasn't quite the usual reaction to his bit of ministry-sponsored mugging but Potter's ego considered it fair trade for the prospect of a hot shower and one's own bed. No, the galling thing was to find oneself standing again in the director's office without the satisfaction of basking in the pride of a job well done. There was no joy in the room as Mother and an uncharacteristically white-knuckled Steed listened to an all-familiar voice rising as the spools spun obediently on the tape recorder.
"Bloody damaging," finally pronounced Mother, lips puckered in sour appreciation. "And this will be one of several copies, naturally."
The rest was left unsaid. Watchers would be dispatched to tail every Expefarmax employee but none could be arrested without arousing unwanted attention. In all likelihood it was only a matter of hours before a copy of the tape would reach a civil servant's office or residence or worse, a journalist. How soon after this would it be turned in to someone in a position to wreck the reputation of Knight Industries? With the right connections, two generations of sterling service to the nation's defence would be irretrievably tarnished by lies and innuendoes.
The director had only a fleeting thought for that outcome. Collateral damage was unpalatable but certainly nothing rare or unexpected in their trade. It would have been unthinkable to comment aloud on it, but he had to admire the self-control of the senior agent sitting stoically across his desk, his apprehensions shaped into a despicable reality. Mother was acutely aware that here was Steed as he had rarely known him. On edge, surely, but his temper cooled to lethal hatred. How much longer could the ministry count on the agent's loyalty?
"I understand that you plan to see Mrs. Peel in the morning, before her return to Expefarmax."
"Correct." The two syllables gave nothing away.
Mother grunted, his usual warning of some rebuke. "The aerial pictures you requested for the occasion will be ready. A rather expensive jaunt by the way, all these low flyovers."
Steed's eyebrows rose but his answer was bland innocence. "Really? I must make a note to look up the current budget allocation for rat-catching." He bent slightly over the desk, adding in confidence, "Maybe you should consider extermination? Not really my line of work, of course, but I hear it's faster and far more affordable than relocation..."
"Naturally," cut in the director, "there will be no mention of the tape to Mrs. Peel." The words dropped across the desk with the leaden finality of a dismissal.
"That would be pointless," agreed Steed, affecting to brush his bowler as he rose from his seat. He raised it curtly to Potter in mock acknowledgement as the younger man opened the door. "Any self-respecting blackmailer will ensure that she gets her personal copy."
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